


What Miriam Remembers

by rhodrymavelyne



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodrymavelyne/pseuds/rhodrymavelyne
Summary: Miriam remembers some of her time as the Chesapeake Ripper’s prisoner and the peek she had into his world, at his loneliness and curiosity which he thought she could alleviate until he met Will Graham…
Relationships: Miriam Lass/Clarice Starling, Miriam Lass/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 12





	What Miriam Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Miriam Lass is returned to Jack Crawford…and Clarice Starling. In my fanfics, Clarice and Miriam were very close, partners in many ways. I don’t own Hannibal but for months it has owned me.

She was in the hole. She was in the house. The walls were closing in on her. She was light, airy and free. The sound of music was always in the air. It chased away all immediency, that music, all motivation. 

At times clarity and motivation returned. She’d remember she was Miriam Lass. She’d been hunting the Chesapeake Ripper. Only he’d caught her. 

“Why?” she asked. “Why didn’t you kill me like you killed the others? What are you hoping to accomplish by keeping me prisoner?”

“I’m curious.” She never saw his face, just a silhouette imposed against the light. He always stood in the light, like a fallen angel. His voice, however, his voice wormed inside her ear, curled around inside her, filling her. There was no escaping his voice. “I’m curious about the F.B.I., the agents that hunt me. I’m curious about your Jack Crawford. And I’m curious about you. That’s why I’m saving you…for last.”

Yes, there had been others. Had there been a girl here, a girl with auburn hair, smoking? A girl whom he’d killed in front of her, slowing carving out her organs?

“I’m going to mount her on a stag and leave her in a field,” he explained. Light surrounded him, drowning out the screams, burning the splatters of blood. “I’m copying a different killer this time. The Minnesota Shrike.”

“Why?” She should be afraid, but she was calm. She was dreaming and about to wake up. When she did she’d be in a quiet room, safe. Right now she could say or do what she wanted. “You’re the Chesapeake Ripper. Why kill someone like another killer?”

She hadn’t heard of the Minnesota Shrike. She wondered if Jack Crawford was hunting him. She wondered which agent he’d put on the case or if he was handling it himself. He’d needed more warm bodies, poor Jack. Perhaps he was consulting with Dr. Bloom.

Dr. Bloom, there had been something important about her, something important about their last conversation, a name she’d mentioned. Only Miriam could no longer remember it. Hopefully Clarice would. She’d been there. 

“This display is a gift for someone unique, Miriam.” For a moment she thought she almost saw the Ripper’s face. It was a handsome face, not unfamilar. Memories almost swam up to her consciousness to slip back down into the darkness. “I’m curious. Have you ever met a special agent named Will Graham?”

“Will Graham?” Miriam frowned. “No, but I’ve heard of him. He has a unique way of profiling crime scenes. Clarice is fascinated by his work. I believe Jack Crawford has his eye on Will Graham, but Dr. Bloom is very protective of him, discouraging too much interest in him.” 

“Yes, she is, isn’t she?” For a moment Miriam wondered if she saw the Ripper smile or if it was just another shadow passing over his face. “It’s too bad, Miriam. I can only talk to you when you’re not really here. The nature of our relationship is that you slip away whenever I speak. Will Graham slips away, too, but does he have to?”

There it was again, that shadow passing over his face, only she couldn’t really see it in the light. He’d stopped smiling and now appeared pensive, thoughtful. 

He’s lonely. This realization came to Miriam Lass as clear as any thought she’d had since becoming the Ripper’s companion. He needs someone to talk to. This is why he grabbed me, the F.B.I. trainee who came knocking on his door, looking for the Ripper. Miriam Lass was someone he could talk to as the Ripper. Someone he could take his mask off around. 

A memory returned of being in her suit, sitting on this couch, unable to move, paralyzed by the light, trying not to look into it. 

“Just what did you come looking to find?” For the first time she heard the voice coming from the silhouette wreathed in brightness. 

“I came looking for the Chesapeake Ripper,” she whispered. “I wondered if Dr. Hannibal Lecter wasn’t the Chesapeake Ripper. He was in the E.R. the night Jeremy Olmstead was brought in. I wondered if he might not have chosen Jeremy Olmstead that night long before he was murdered.”

“No, Dr. Hannibal Lecter is not the Chesapeake Ripper.” The voice was soft, commanding, persuasive, invasive. “I am. I’m the one who killed Jeremy Olmstead. I marked him, followed him, and took him.”

“Why take him the way you do? Why take any of them?” Miriam felt calm, calmer than she should under the circumstances. “Why do you take the organs while you’re killing your victims?”

“Everyone I ever took was discourteous, ugly in their behavior. When I take them, I…refine them.” He pauses, considering his words. “I turn them into art.”

“Art?” Miriam asks with a frown. 

The Ripper sighed, his whole silhouette heaving the motion. Miriam got the impression she’d disappointed him in some profound way with her question. 

“Murder can be an art, just like cooking.” The shadow dips his head slightly. “Flesh, blood, and organs are the materials I work with.” 

“You’ve been doing this for a long time.” Miriam laced her hands together, feeling some of her fear return. Yes, she should be afraid. 

“Since I was a young man. I’ve perfected the process, learned not to waste my endeavours. To share them with others. Allow me to show you.”

A plate appeared in front of Miriam. Something delicious wafted from the elegantly arranged slice of meat with its dark purple garnish flowering out of the top. 

“You were asking about Mr. Jeremy Olmstead.” A faint chuckle rippled through his frame. “Taste his fate.” 

Miriam shrank back, the meaning of his words sinking in. 

“Go ahead.” The voice was low, persuasive, filled with amusement. “Taste him. It’s all right. There’s nothing you can do to undo his fate. If you don’t savour him, everything that happened to him will be wasted.”

“You cooked him.” The appetizing smell filled her mouth with bile. “You butchered him and you cooked him.”

“I took his organs,” the Ripper corrected. “I cooked them. I selected particular parts of him.” 

“Why?” Miriam lifted a hand to rub across her mouth, swallowing sickness. 

“Why not?” For the first time a hint of aggressive defensiveness enters the Ripper’s tone. “People butcher and eat pigs, cows, and lambs without a second thought.”

“Lambs.” The sound of that word evoked a pang of loneliness, a longing for a person who wasn’t there, memories of her tossing and turning in bed. “She sometimes cries about the lambs in the middle of the night when she thinks I’m sleeping.” 

“She?” The Ripper put a certain thoughtful emphasis on the word. 

Miriam cursed the mouth that no longer seemed able to shut itself in this man’s presence. Awareness of this brought back the fear which should be hers in this situation, yet it kept drifting away. 

“Just because we butcher pigs, cows, and lambs doesn’t make this better.” Tightness gathered behind Miriam’s eyes. She could cry at any moment. Oh, please, don’t let me break down in front of this man. “How is this better?”

“Shh, Miriam.” Once again his manner was gentle, comforting, even though his light blinded her. “Remember you’re safe. You’re waking in a quiet room. What happens here can’t hurt you.”

Yes, that’s true. Miriam felt her eyelids flutter. And the food looked so pretty on the plate, plus it smelled delicious, but there was an important point to make. 

“Eating each other. Cannibalism.” She picked up her fork, but didn’t use it. “All of this, isn’t it just sinking back into barbarism?”

“Do you really believe we’ve left barbarism behind?” The Ripper cocked his head. “Tell me, Miriam, do you truly believe that?”

Miriam swallowed, considered what she’d seen even before she became an F.B.I. trainee or ever crossed the Ripper’s path. 

“What civilization we have, what we’ve achieved must be protected,” she murmured. “It’s all so fragile. Too fragile.”

“Have you succeeded in protecting it, Agent Lass?” The voice remained gentle, but there was no softening the question’s blow or its inevitable answer. 

“No.” The tightness was back behind her eyes, the unshed tears. “I’m here now. They’d be so ashamed of me. He’d be ashamed of me. She’d be ashamed of me.”

“Who?” The question was gentle, insistent, pushing at the last of her defenses. 

“My parents. Jack. Clarice. I’m a huge disappointment to all of them.” She stared down at her plate. “I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t brave enough.”

“You can be brave now, Miriam.” There was something so seductive, almost hypnotic about the voice. “You can try something most people never dare to taste.” 

Miriam brought her fork down, stabbing the meat again and again until she broke a piece free, ruining the elegant display. 

Once again the Ripper sighed as if she’d disappointed him in some essential way. As Clarice would say, too bad. 

She lifted her fork to her mouth, popped the piece inside, and chewed. She paused, too astonished to keep chewing for a moment, but resumed with more enthusiasm. She swallowed. “It’s delicious.”

“That’s the secret, Miriam.” A mischievous delight crept into the voice even though it remained soft and courteous. “We are all delicious if we’re prepared right.” 

“It’s a secret you’re sharing with everyone, only they don’t know it.” Miriam shivered, only there was no need to be afraid. Soon she’d be waking up in a quiet room. “You delight in feeding us to each other.”

“How nice to be seen, if only in a dream. If only I could be seen by someone awake.” The Ripper sighed again. “I’ve enjoyed your company, Miriam. I truly have, but you’re asleep.”

“Yes.” Miriam felt her eyelids fluttering. 

How many conversations had been like that? The Ripper never raised his voice, yet he seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated with her state. 

“I cannot speak to you as I wish. I’ve met your Jack Crawford. He’s given me a rare gift, a special gift.” Once more he gazed at her from the brightness, seeing deep into her, but she couldn’t see him. “Perhaps once I have Will Graham, I can return you to Jack.”  


Miriam gasped, recalling all this, awakening, only this time for real. Awakening in a quiet room, dark. Missing an arm, yet with Clarice at her side. 

“The Ripper took me because he was lonely,” she murmured, looking down at her companion. 

“Only he gave you back.” Clarice’s eyes were bright, reflecting the moonlight from the window. 

“Once he had Will Graham, he didn’t need me any more.” Miriam bit her lower lip. “He had what he wanted. Someone who’d listen to him, see him when he was awake.” 

She didn’t realize she was trembling until Clarice put her arms around her.

**Author's Note:**

> The notion that the Ripper was saving Miriam for last comes from Miriam’s conversation in Yakimono. The references to the girl smoking whom Hannibal kills are to Cassie Boyle and Apertíf along with what Bryan Fuller revealed was cut from the episode during the commentary. Jeremy Olmstead was the Chesapeake Ripper kill whom Miriam and Jack examined in Entree, the one who gave her a clue to check out Hannibal Lecter. The reference to Hannibal refining his victims comes from Janice Poon's interpretation during Post Mortem of Hannibal's motivations for cooking them. The reference to the lambs crying is part of Clarice's canon backstory and what the title Silence of the Lambs refers to.


End file.
